Page 22

YULIAN

Two vory dead. Two of my highest ranked men, gone. Just like that.

I bite my tongue until I taste copper. It’s not nearly enough to keep my rage in check, but between that and my bleeding wounds from crawling on glass shards, I can at least hold on to clarity. To the present.

“Maks,” I bark, “send our men hunting. I want every rooftop checked.”

“Already sent word,” Maksim says. “If he’s still around, we’ll get him.”

But he won’t be. I know it in my gut. This thing with Desya won’t end unless I’m the one to pull the trigger. To finish what I couldn’t twenty years ago.

God knows we’re all paying for it.

Suddenly, Rurik’s words echo in my head. “We’ll die, all of us, like flies. Because of you.”

Leave it to that old fucker to literally die on his hill.

I kneel next to Rurik’s body and assess the damage. There’s no point in checking for breath: he’s gone. His eyes are glassy, wide with the shock and urgency of his last moments. He must have tried to duck behind the sofa for cover, but not fast enough.

Rurik Mikhailov. Pain in the ass that he was, he didn’t deserve this. Not from some mudak who’s got nothing to do with us. He was a soldier in my Bratva—that made him mine to judge, no one else’s.

Yet another thing Desya stole from me.

I take a deep breath and close his eyes. His body is still warm, but there’s no life behind them. Sightless, glassy, still.

Maksim comes up behind me. “He’s…?”

“Dead.” I don’t bother to sugarcoat it.

“ Blyat’, ” Kazimir mumbles next to us. “Poor bastard. At least he didn’t suffer.”

“I’ll make sure to send Desya a thank-you card for that.”

Kazimir shuffles, uncomfortable. “Apologies. I misspoke.”

It’s not fair of me to take my anger out on Kazimir, I know. But right now, I don’t give a shit about what’s fair. Because this? Rurik’s blood on my floor, on my hands? It’s not fucking fair, either. Nothing about this hunt is.

“Boss.” Maksim hands me something. A handful of bullets. “Look.”

I roll them in my palm. One is etched—no, all of them are.

And they all say, 4.

“Motherfucker.” It’s all I can do not to crush them in my fist. If there was any doubt about the culprit, this fucking seals it. Desya is hunting my generals, one by one, and Rurik was his second victim.

Two down, four more to go.

I rise and let the bullets clatter to the floor. “Check in with Zhenya and Anton. If they’re so much as thinking of surfacing, shoot their goddamn kneecaps.”

“On it,” Maksim says.

“Kazimir, you’re joining them. Right now.”

“Oh. Alright.” Kazimir blinks. “Can I at least swing by my place and grab?—”

“No.”

He sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Fine. Hope Anton brought every pair of boxers he owns.”

“If he didn’t, I’m sure Zhenya will let you borrow from her drawer,” Maksim adds unhelpfully.

I tune them out. Right now, the last thing I need is my men making light of the situation. Two vory are dead—that’s not just two less men in our ranks. That’s inviting chaos. Or worse, a coup.

If the other criminal syndicates of New York smell our blood in the water, Desya might not even need to finish the job.

“We’ll die, all of us, like flies.”

I clench my fists, knuckles popping like firecrackers. Let them come. Anyone who wants a piece of my Bratva is welcome to try and take a bite. They’ll end up with a bullet between their teeth instead.

I’m not giving up. My Bratva, my revenge—I will keep them both alive.

And the rest of my vory, too.

I step out into the hallway and walk deeper into the building, as far from the windows as I can get, because the last thing I’m going to do is give Desya the gift of an easy prey. If he wants me, he’s going to have to come get me.

But what if he does?

I banish that thought. I can’t afford to doubt myself—not at this critical moment.

And yet, I know it’s not self-doubt that whispers those words in my ear. It’s Mia. The idea of her having no one to come home to, of her crying on my grave. Of Eli sharing her grief. Of my own child never getting to know me.

I can’t leave her. I won’t leave her.

Which is why I have to do whatever it takes to end this.

I stop at the secretary’s desk. She’s back at her post, because of course she is. If I gave my employees time off every time bullets fly, there’d be no one here left to answer the phones.

“I want you to leave a message to Isaak Noskov,” I say. “Tell him I need to speak with him about the Hudson clean-up.”

“The Hud…?”

“Don’t question me. Just do it.”

“O-Of course, Mr. Lozhkin!” She quickly complies, reciting the code words into the receiver with only the slightest shake in her voice. Hudson clean-up —a bit on the nose, but it’ll get the message across.

I stride back to the office. My men have lined up against the broken window in full SWAT gear.

“You call Isaak yet?” Maksim asks.

I didn’t tell him I was going to. But with Maksim, mystery is pointless. Anticipating moves and counter-moves—that’s what being a good second-in-command boils down to. And yet, something about the way he’s phrased it unnerves me.

“I don’t need anybody else to help clean up my messes,” I snap.

“Never said you did, boss. Just thought you’d want his input on where the other families stand.”

Blyat’. Now, I can’t even take it out on him, because he’s fucking right again. The most precious currency I can deal with today is information, and Isaak has that.

Isaak Noskov. Allies aren’t something the Lozhkin Bratva has in spades—we either make enemies or steer clear of each other—but he’s a special case.

To him, allies are way more profitable than enemies.

He’s made it his mission to cultivate neighborhood relationships in the underworld, especially on his side of the river.

To me, whispers are a nuisance to be silenced.

To him, they are valuable trading chips.

That’s why, if anyone’s thinking of joining up with Prizrak, he’s going to know about it.

Besides, that’s not all I want from him. I made a promise to Mia this morning that I’d help in any way I could. And while shooting a third eye in Brad’s forehead would be short and pleasant work for me, Mia has made it clear that’s not what she wants.

That means I’ll have to take a different route.

“I left Isaak a message,” I say. “He’ll give us what we want by the end of the day, like always.”

“You sound sure of that.”

“He owes me.”

“Honestly, I’ve lost track of who owes who between you two.”

“Really?” I say. “I’ve been gift-wrapping the heads of his enemies since the day he asked me to smoke them out of my borders.”

“And he’s been calling in Prizrak tips since he took over from his daddy,” Maksim counters.

“All in all, I’d say you’re evenly matched.

I get that you won’t put your dicks away long enough to be friends, but at least admit he’s the best ally we’ve got.

That, or keep up the pissing contest until the bay has turned gold. I’m sure the tourists will love that.”

“You realize the last person to sass me out like that ended up bleeding through the floorboards.”

“To be fair, it wasn’t you who did it.”

I open my mouth to snarl out another warning, but Maksim puts his hands up. “But fine, point taken. I’ll shut up. And since I’m feeling generous, I’ll go iron out Rurik’s affairs, too. Though I’m sure his records will be a nightmare compared to Slavik’s.”

“Send the overflow to Kazimir and the others. Since they’re stuck holding their dicks in a bunker, they might as well make themselves useful.”

“I’ll make sure to pass on the message.”

I roll my eyes and grab my suitcase. Rurik handled our clandestine casinos—that means it’ll be all hands on deck just to figure out the cash flow.

Slavik would have come in handy for this, since he was the one who laundered it all, but we’ll have to make do with his records instead.

Hopefully, the Volkov twins didn’t fuck up on their end.

As long as Zhenya’s got her debtor ledger and Anton his client list for party favors, we’ll be fine.

For now.

I’m debating whether to head to the casinos myself or send someone else to run point, when my phone buzzes in my hand. A text—from Mia.

The second I read it, my blood turns to ice.